Quiet
by Chibi McFu
Summary: Time doesn't heal all things. In a time of war, death and being with the wrong person, Kairi finds the quiet between the battles. AU.


**Hi! Hope you enjoy. This is pretty AU. Language and sex and stuff. Enjoy and review!**

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**Quiet**

* * *

For now, it is quiet.

Standing on a finished battlefield, her keyblade rusted with use and hanging limply from her hand, it is almost silent. Strangely, though, she can hear birds, singing gently above her and uncaring of the war and bloodshed that had waged on below them. The birds are singing because the sun is rising - the battle is finished for the day. Night has gone and the Heartless, Nobodies and Unversed have been driven back for daylight. Another battalion will be formed by nightfall and then the battle will begin again, and they will fight through the night once more.

"You're bleeding," a soft voice says. Kairi turns and meets Aerith's worried green eyes. Her hand brushes against the cut on her cheek. She lets Aerith carefully wipe away the blood, her hand leaving a warmth that makes her skin tingle. She has enough experience now with the healer to know that her skin has knitted itself together in the wake of her palm, not completely healed but a thin, white, premature scar remaining. Around Kairi, others are being healed, patting each other familiarly on the back, or dragging away the few dead. Their forces have grown stronger - but with each leap forward they make in strength and skill, their enemies always remain a step ahead.

Some distance away, Naminé is tending to a wound on Riku's arm. The blood has run down his arms in branching rivers but, like the cut on her own cheek, under Naminé's hand the wound is mostly healed. Riku thanks her with a tired nod, swinging his own keybalde over his shoulder and heading over to Kairi. He warmly squeezes her shoulder and Naminé, face stony and impassive, walks away. Along with Aerith she returns to the few other healers, who keep out of battle until sunrise. Kairi couldn't really imagine Naminé wielding any kind of weapon anyway.

"How you doing, Kai?" Riku asks her. She scoffs lightly.

"Seen better days, to be honest." She holds up her free hand, coated in a mixture of sweat, grime and blood. "Could do with a bath," she adds.

"You said it," he murmurs darkly. They begin to make their way across the Great Maw, back to their camp on the outskirts of Radiant Garden. She spots Xion talking to Yuffie, a great streak of blood mapped across her face, and she pushes Riku in her direction. He immediately heads over to her, concerned hands rising to her face whilst she rolls her eyes. Kairi can almost see the girl mouth the words "I'm fine, Riku."

The camp is almost as quiet as the now deserted battlefield. She was one of the last to leave it and now many of their fighters are sleeping, bathing or being carefully tended to by the healers. A few yards away, Naminé is now sat beside Sora, who is having a cut on his forehead cleaned by Tifa. She is sighing, wiping away the sweat on her own brow. Kairi can see her arms are littered with bruises and thin, bloodied cuts. Sora meets Kairi's gaze and holds it, his eyes cold. He makes no sign of recognition, and then he breaks the gaze before she can. She can feel Naminé's equally cold stare but ignores it.

Things between Sora and herself have dissolved some time ago.

Time doesn't heal all things, and in the end, time proved too much. As the battles began coming every night, and she was forced to learn how to fight for herself, distance began stretching them apart, until they had no words to say to each other. Sometimes she misses the gentleness of his touch, the soft press of his kiss. But what finally ripped them apart was the night she found herself in Roxas' arms.

She'd never intended it to happen. In fact, for the first month of battles, she thought he was arrogant and rude. She never agreed with him, and she hated the way he looked so much like Sora but was everything Sora wasn't. Yet one night, when he walked into her tent as she was changing, their arguing suddenly culminated in him grabbing her face and crushing his lips onto hers. They'd fallen to the floor of her tent and soon, he was above her and between her legs, grabbing at her breast with rough, calloused hands, pressing into her until she gasped and the skin of his back was caught under her fingernails.

A few days later Sora saw them caught in each other's arms, lips shoved together in a frenzied kiss, and his gaze had remained cold since.

The silence had continued between them, and then stretched to Naminé, until their circle was broken, with Riku the only link between them.

She clambers into the makeshift bath - a large bucket she has to fold her limbs into in order to fit. The lukewarm water, dirtied by the bodies of those who have bathed in it before her in the dawning sunlight, covers her to her neck and laps noisily around the soft mounds of her small breasts.

In the quiet of the battle's end, as nearly all the camp retire to their tents under the safety of the first watch, she remembers how it began - how the barriers protecting the worlds began to crack, how she woke one morning feeling strangely empty and found Naminé sitting silently at the end of her bed, how the letter from Radiant Garden had arrived, begging Sora to help them. Sora could never turn down the needy, and she and Riku had promised each other to follow Sora wherever he went. Then the daily battles began and everything changed. Everything stopped being the way they thought it would be.

She holds herself in the tub, hands grasping at her naked flesh, hating yet yearning for the simplicity of their lives before.

* * *

For now, it is quiet.

Lying together in the cool, shaded light of his tent, her head on his bare chest and his fingers running along the length of her loosening braid, their breathing is slowing, is calming, descending from the escalated peak of passion and ecstasy they'd hit minutes before, sweat coating their shaking, trembling bodies.

Their enemies come at night, and so they fuck in the sleepy light of midday. Sharing his tent had been an easy process to slip into - she'd found herself throbbing and empty when she tried to sleep away from him, in the tent she shared with Naminé and Xion, until she could no longer bear it and one day had stolen into the small tent he'd managed to reserve for himself. She barely gave him time to wake up before she clambered on top of him, lips hitting his flesh and hands pulling at him until he was completely roused and able to satisfy her. The beating of his heart beneath the hard planes of his chest had fast become the only way she could reach sleep and the feel of his arms holding her flesh was more comforting than she could ever let on.

They do not say _I love you_s. This is not love - like wolves in a pack, mating, this is companionship. This is being with someone who makes you feel safe and you want to make them safe.

She and Sora had lain together and it had been love. It had been not long after they'd found each other again; he'd woken her up one night to make sure she was really there and their soft kisses and touches had led into love making that had been tender, but short. Time and pressure had beaten them and her hips had remained unmoving, simply taking his advances and staring into his eyes until he came. They had held each other gently after and whispered _I love you_s.

Laying with Roxas is far from this. With Roxas it is sex - it is animalistic, it is frenzied. They cannot get enough of each others' body. It is coupling, and she has to hold onto his strong arms for fear of getting lost in the activity, her feet beating down against his backside and her flesh littered with bruises from his grip. Their eyes are locked but everything else is moving - the first time he entered her it hurt, sometimes still hurts at first, but she forces him to continue to thrust anyway because it feels so natural. The first time had been so intense that she'd all but lain there and taken it, as she had with Sora, but simply because she was overwhelmed with sensation and touch and orgasm. The second time, not long after he'd barrelled his way into her, she found her hips catching his rhythm and her movements wrenched a groan from deep within his chest. She'd clutched at him and matched him until they were rutting against each other on the sheets, grunting and moaning and shaking with feeling.

Their coupling is always exhausting but has become routine following battle. It gives them a release that then allows them to unwind and relax against each other as they come down from their peaks. They satisfy each other and hold each other and then it is quiet, silent, except for the rare sounds of movement outside in the camp.

Sometimes they talk. She tells him about Radiant Garden when she was a little girl, tells him about Destiny Islands. Tells him how she has never had any talents except getting along with boys better than girls and how she dearly loves Sora and Riku as her brothers, has always seen the looks Riku gives Sora and how sad his unrequited feelings made her, and that Roxas might be the only talent she really has, because she knows him and his body so well that she can make him vulnerable with the flick of her tongue or the scrape of her fingernails. He thinks she may just be right. He tells her of how little he knows about himself. How little he remembers of anything. How the only time he knows he has cried has been when Axel died and how he only knows that he was the truest friend he's ever had, except now he thinks that she may have taken that position. He always holds her as they talk, his heated skin rapidly cooling against hers as the sweat dries off their spent bodies.

Sometimes they talk of life and death, and he tells her that she is the bravest person he knows on the battlefield.

"Aren't you afraid of death?" he asks her one time.

"Right now I'm not. And the thought of death isn't that scary. But I think the process would be."

He lazily kisses the back of her hand. "How do you mean?"

"I think dying itself would be scary. Knowing you're leaving this world and having no control over it. I think if I were dying, I would just want someone there to remind me that I'm not alone, to make me feel loved. Dying alone and unloved is a scary thought, I guess."

They do not talk anymore of death after that, as her words are deep and scare him, and a fist clenches the stem of his heart when, at the end of a battle, he sees her with a young solider she barely knows, dying on the ground, her hands clasping his as she whispers words in his ear that Roxas cannot hear. Instead, in the soft light of his tent, their breathing calms and the quiet is so there, so present, that it is almost haunting to them.

She always falls asleep before him and she wonders how long he lies there in the quiet light, holding her sleeping form to him. She wonders how long it takes him to fall asleep, for she always wakes first and takes a small, rare pleasure in rousing him softly in the quiet light of dusk.

* * *

For now, it is quiet.

In the aftermath of battle, lying on the ground hurt and bleeding and struggling for breath, the air around her is quiet.

It shouldn't be quiet - they have won. Their enemy forces, though sending the stronger fighters out, have been depleting rapidly, and the battles have not begun till late into the night. As she watched Zack and Cloud take down the last, gigantic behemoth and light exploded from its core, it had been very clear that the battles were finished - for good. The side of good had driven back the forces of darkness once more.

But the victory has not come without a price, and many are grounded, never to rise again. A sense of mourning and sorrow has thickened the air and brought an eerie silence with it. Some feet away, Sora is still on the ground, eyes closed, unconscious. Her injuries throb, keeping her pinned to the ground, unable to move. Images of the battle are relaying themselves across her memory - feeling powerful in her armour, cleaving enemies in two with a swing of her keyblade, her braid whipping out behind her and making her feel the very definition of strength and femininity. Xion and herself working as a team, back to back and slashing at the circle of enemies surrounding them, protecting each other until the circle was nothing more than black and grey smoke, mere wisps of terror. Pulling sharply at Tifa's back and yanking her swiftly away in the nick of time, sharp blades impaling the ground where she had stood. Finding herself alone at the edge of the battlefield, mercilessly hacking and swinging and severing her enemies with her keyblade, now heavy in her hand, taking hits and slashes across her body when it began to be too much for her to handle. Then, Sora appearing before her as she fell to the ground, his armour crushed and sorely dented on one side where he had clearly taken a great hit, a swing of his keyblade saving her face from being completely destroyed by a swipe of dark claws.

They had fought together, feeling like a pair and finally feeling like they used to, when a great, shadowy creature, with the body of a man but twice the height of any man she'd seen, targeted them. Sora managed to get in a good few hits and screamed her name as her head snapped to the side by the collision of a spear, but she had fought on as best she could, concentrating on keeping her arms moving until all she could see was a blur of black and the red of blood. The creature swung an arm out and sent Sora flying, sending him crashing to the ground in an unconscious heap. She took the opportunity to swing her keyblade in a fatal arc into the creature and it crumpled, claws sliding through her armour and flesh as easy as butter and ripping apart her stomach. The creature was gone, defeated, but so was she.

For a time, she lies panting, concentrating every breath on pushing her through the pain that is crippling her body and making sweat trickle down her spine beneath the armour. The sky, despite it being dawn, is dark with storm clouds, the threat of rain an imminent smell in the air. The quiet is still here, enveloping her like a darkness, and still she is blowing and sucking air furiously through her pursed lips as yelps of pain are still escaping her. She can feel blood, hot, sticky and wet, pooling beneath her on the earth. She feels so very alone and the thought is scaring her, making her breath harder to control, but a flash of pale blonde at the edge of her vision catches her eye and relief surges through her, replacing the blood she has lost. Naminé is here, will be able to heal her - all will be well. She catches the girl's eye as she approaches, unable to form words in her agonised state, and settles for a pleading look. Naminé holds her gaze, as cold as she always is these days, and turns away, moving towards Sora and crouching down beside his still form on the ground. She begins moving her hands over him, pulling his armour away from the flesh to sweep her palm over the injuries beneath. He begins to stir as Kairi realises that Naminé is going to leave her like this.

"Come back - help me, Naminé!" Her voice is hoarse and crude.

The girl ignores her.

"Come back and help me you bitch!" She yells weakly, before coughs wrack her body and something wet is leaking from the corner of her mouth and she feels it trickling down her chin. The coughing makes the pain near unbearable and she groans and yells, her hand clamping down on the chasm in her armour and her other limbs spasming and twitching.

"Sora!" Riku's voice echoes from nearby. She can see Sora sitting up, see Riku hauling him upright and holding him to his chest tightly, then holding him at arms length to scan his face for injuries. "You're okay. It's over - we've done it!"

His voice is weak with relief and love, until another coughing fit takes over her body and she clutches at her stomach and he spots her on the ground. Then fear interlaces his words.

"Kairi!"

Suddenly her head is being lifted and placed carefully in his lap, Riku's big hands cradling her face and wiping the blood from her mouth. Sora is there, too - fearfully easing her hand away from the wound and his face crumpling in dismay.

Then more people are there, keeping a loose circle around her, more friendly faces tight with shock and fear and her heart begins beating so hard that she feels it will smash against the breast plate of her armour. Riku and Sora have begun unbuckling the plate, easing it off of her and leaving her weightless and exposed without it. They ease up her tunic and and survey the bloodied mess of her abdomen, Riku's frightened gasps echoing in her ear.

"Naminé, do something!" He calls weakly. The blonde girl is looking scared too, hands clasped to her mouth and her forehead creased. She looks paler than ever, shaking her head with damp eyes. Kairi looks up at Riku's face, seeing him look to Aerith in desperation. "Aerith - please - don't worry, Kairi, Aerith will be able to do something ... she'll have something ..." He trails off at the sad look on Aerith's face. She is clinging to a dirty and bloodied Zack, her eyes shining too. There's nothing that can be done.

"What's going on?"

They are parting, their faces growing sadder, and then suddenly Roxas is before and above her, his lips falling apart in surprise and his eyes wide.

Pain flashes white across her eyes and her head swims, blurring, and when she is able to think coherently once more she realises she is now lying with her head in Roxas' lap, and Riku - his face red and crumpled with tears - is all but being held up by Xion. Roxas is panting just as much as she is, and the scared look in his eyes makes her heart race harder with fear. The dark is closing in around her eyes, now, and a roll of thunder is echoing above their heads. The ground shakes with the force of the thunder.

"It's alright - I'm here," Roxas is saying. Riku lets out a sad sob, his hands clenching Xion's arms as tears streak down her pale, frightened face. A cold is spreading through her flesh now, rooted in her stomach and gradually stilling her shaking limbs until she feels limp and helpless. She is tired - so tired. Her eyes begin to close and Roxas gently shakes her by her shoulders.

"No," he says softly. "Just a little longer, please." His words are weak and sorrowful, and she looks up into his sad face and his full eyes. She wants to touch his face but she cannot will her arms to move. One hand twitches, pathetically, and he takes hold of it, pulling it close to his face and rubbing his cheek against it. He is braver than the others, keeps his face as intact as possible and refuses to let any tears spill. He bends over and begins carefully places kisses on her face - planting them familiarly on her cheeks, her eyebrows, her chin, and finally her mouth with a last, waveringly soft pressure. She knows he is trying to make her feel loved and she feels it here with him and wonders if they may have felt love those nights after all. Sora is still at her side, still holding her other hand between his with a different look of love on his face. It is the love they have always shared - the love of a dearest friend - and it gives her a brief surge of strength to grip his fingers back with a shaking force.

Thunder rumbles again, her breathing is quickening and spasming, Riku is crying softly and she can hear Roxas swallowing, over and over, his chest twitching with emotion. Wind is roaring in and out of her ears, draining far out - or maybe it is her life. A few drops of rain spatter her face as the noise reaches a crescendo and when she closes her eyes and slips into darkness, all falls silent.

* * *

He buries her body at the edge of the battlefield, and Sora and Riku help him dig her grave.

It had been quiet when he had finally lifted her from the ground, his feet firmly rooted on the ground with her spread out over his arms, her head tipped back and her braid dangling. He had finally allowed himself a few, silent tears as he walked with her in his arms, his companions gathered behind him and treading his footsteps, the rain pouring down and beating against his face and armour. His tears have always fallen silently.

The ground is easy to dig as it is sodden with rain water, but because of this her grave is sloppy and its sides slip down a couple times. The sky is as dark as night, the storm clouds fading the light of morning. He works silently with Sora and Riku at his side, their faces wet for a hundred different reasons - tears, sweat, rain, blood - until the earth is open enough to lay her within it. They put her back in her armour as he wants her to be remembered like that; a brave fighting woman with a weapon in her hand and a braid down her back. Her body is soaked when he lies her in the grave, her hair plastered to her head and her skin damp and pale, and as he shivers he finds himself hoping she will not be cold.

It is quiet as they fill her grave: their companions are in the town, celebrating their victory and the end of the battles, and he does not blame them. People fall with war - a loss is inevitable. He just didn't think he would be the one to suffer, and didn't think losing her would have this hardening, quieting effect upon him. As he kneels beside the now full grave, the mound of earth painfully fresh before him, it is a long time and a long silence stretched between himself and Riku and Sora before he is able to find words.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he says, so softly that he wonders if they have heard them. Riku moves behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder that makes his skin crawl beneath the armour he still wears. He wants to remain untouched. Sora kneels beside the grave also, on the opposite side to Roxas. There is no anger or animosity between them; he knows this now. All that is left is the quiet air.

"We were going to always be friends," Riku says suddenly, standing tall and turning away from the grave. Roxas does not look at him but knows he is watching the moving lights of the town, buzzing with noise. "Even when we were old and with partners and children. We were always going to be friends."

"We were going to have children," Roxas finally manages. He wipes clumsily at his face, the metal of his armour catching the skin. "But not get married or anything - she didn't like that. She didn't like romance and big declarations of love. I was just going be with her. We were going to be a family."

He cannot speak any more words as he wants to stay true to her, does not want to give her the big declaration of love she so detested. So he shuts up, watching Sora across the grave, still kneeling. His face is closed and stiff, and he never says a word. Kairi's keyblade lies beside him on the earth.

Roxas stands then, and begins to walk away - not to the town but to his tent, empty and alone - but Riku suddenly speaks again. His voice is thick with tears again.

"We should mark it with something - her grave, I mean."

Roxas turns, and sees Sora rise to his feet. After a moment's pause, he takes her keyblade in his hand and thrusts it firmly into the earth, at the head of the grave.

"There," Sora says softly. Then he walks away. He does not head into the town either, but towards the camp. Roxas sees him in the distance, wiping at his face as he ducks into his dark tent.

"Roxas-" Riku begins, but Roxas simply shakes his head. He does not look at the boy, just fixes his gaze on her keyblade, standing proud and upright. Riku sighs, and walks away. He knows without looking that he has walked towards the town, his gait already swaying, and will no doubt be found with his head in a tankard of alcohol later that day.

He remains standing by her grave for a little while longer, the rain steady and pressing his hair down against his face. He thinks of her laugh - rare but true - and the way her voice rose and fell like a river of feeling when she spoke to him, telling him of her mind. He thinks of her whispers, her screams on the battle field, her gasps when they were joined and moving in rhythm. He thinks of the quiet sigh of her breath when she sleeps beside him.

He does not want to head into the noise-filled town, or return to his dark and empty tent. He does not want to stay beside her grave. But he knows the sheets in his tent still carry her scent, and the rain is cold. He can feel its icy fingers sliding beneath his armour and burning his skin. He returns to his tent, stripping himself of his armour until he can lie naked among the sheets and the whisper of her memory. He sleeps soundly, uninterrupted, only waking long after, in the middle of the night. His arms are empty, her scent has gone and the rain outside has stopped.

For now, it is quiet.

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**Thanks for reading! Sorry for the sadness. I've never really written a death scene and it was really tough to do. Please review! And thanks again!**

**x**


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